


Doctored

by feverbeats



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yusuf has known enough addicts to tell that Nash is hooked badly on something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctored

1.

The first time Yusuf meets Nash is in the early days of dream-sharing, when the military and other government entities are still trying to wrest back control of the use of Somnacin, before they give up.

When someone pounds on Yusuf's door at three in the morning, he considers not getting out of his warm bed, but he's accustomed to dealing with the sort of people who will kick in a door if it's not opened, so he stumbles up and pulls on a pair of sweatpants.

When he opens the door, he sees small, wiry man wearing an ill-fitting blue suit. It's pouring rain.

"Are you Yusuf?" the man asks. He sounds scared and he keeps glancing behind him. Yusuf will later learn that this is pretty standard for Nash.

"Maybe," Yusuf says, relaxing somewhat. He's pretty sure the man isn't armed. "Why?"

"I was told . . . Look, my name's Nash. Eames sent me. He told said you'd know—"

"Come in," Yusuf says quickly. "You're getting all wet out there."

Eames, Yusuf muses, while fetching Nash some dry clothes and a hot drink, is the cause of most of the problems in his life, and probably in most people's lives. Nash looks exceptionally grateful for the towel, which tells Yusuf he's desperate. Eames has bad taste in friends nearly one hundred percent of the time.

"All right," Yusuf says, setting down a mug in front of Nash, "What exactly did Eames send you after?"

Nash pushes wet hair out of his eyes. "He told me you can get black market Somnacin."

"That's a little insulting," Yusuf says placidly, overcompensating for the jolt of nerves in the pit of his stomach. _Everything_ is Eames' fault. "I can't _get_ you Somnacin. I can manufacture it for you."

Nash's eyes narrow. "I need it for some people I'm doing a job for. Is it as good as the real thing?"

Yusuf smiles. "Better."

He wonders, later, how much of what happens to Nash is his fault.

2.

Yusuf doesn't see Nash for another two years. In the meantime, he's been working on building a reputation with all the right people and staying off everyone else's radar. He's got a small shop in Mombasa, a front for his real business.

It's early afternoon when Nash comes in, dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and stained sneakers. "Uh, hi," he says. "You probably don't remember me. Nash. Eames' friend."

There's an odd stutter and pause before _friend_ , and Yusuf raises his eyebrows. "I remember you. I have an exceptionally good memory for faces. Unless people don't want me to."

Nash ducks his head in what could be gratitude. "I need some more Somnacin, if that's okay."

Yusuf has stopped being so paranoid about the drug by now. Its use has become so widespread in various facets of the criminal underworld that, like any good drug, it goes essentially unregulated. "Certainly. I've gotten it down to an art now. Hardly any bad batches."

It's a joke, but Nash goes a little pale. Yusuf assumes he's heard the horror stories.

"Not to worry," Yusuf assures him, "I'm one of the best."

"Yeah." Nash shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around distractedly. "Hey. Is it safe to use this stuff on your own? Like, not with a team?"

Yusuf narrows his eyes. "Yeah. Why?" He's seen guys like Nash before, people so scared of their own shadows that they'd rather get into the mindheist business than face reality every day. The business is still new enough that it's hard for Yusuf to quote any statistics on how these people end up, but he's taking bets.

Nash shrugs. "Just wondering if it's something people do. I mean, if you could build, for instance, you could make yourself a dreamscape and then dream it yourself. Fill it with your projections and just hang around in there."

Yusuf has exactly zero interest in fucking someone up, but because he's bad at lying, he says, "You could do that. Yes."

3.

Yusuf is already running a small but successful dream den when he sees Nash again. This is relevant information.

This time, Yusuf is sitting outside in the sun, trying to figure out what to make for lunch, when Nash shows up.

Yusuf doesn't really notice what he's wearing this time, because he's more concerned with all the blood. "What _happened?_ " he asks, standing up. He deals with a rough crew, but they usually do most of their more dangerous business where he can't see.

Nash wipes blood from his forehead and says, sounding too drained to even be scared, "Can I tell you about it inside?"

It turns out most of the blood isn't Nash's, which is not comforting so much as surprising. Yusuf lets him take a shower and yet again lets him borrow clothes that are too big for him. Yusuf has already made beans and rice (he's working on the harder stuff, okay?) when Nash comes back in, toweling off his hair.

"So?" Yusuf says.

"It's not a really great story," Nash sighs, sitting down at the table like he belongs there. "I need more Somnacin."

"I have to tell you," Yusuf says, "Eames suggested that I stop doing business with you." Eames has cited Nash as being "untrustworthy," which Yusuf doesn't doubt, but which Eames has no reason to care about. They're all untrustworthy in this business, except apparently the Cobbs, who are slowly becoming the talk of the town. Eames has warned him against working with them, too. But no, he suspects Eames' reasons for disliking Nash are slightly different, perhaps more personal.

Nash rolls his shoulders. "He's a fucking lunatic. You're not going to listen to that, are you? He's so fucked-up."

So the extreme reactions are going both ways. Yusuf won't ask. "I choose my own clients. I don't mind you giving some more Somnacin. I like you."

Nash shrugs away from the compliment. "What've you been doing lately?"

"Let me show you."

*

"You provide the drugs for this?" Nash doesn't sound accusing, as people often do. He just sounds intrigued. The quiet of half a dozen people sleeping fills the room.

"Yes," Yusuf says, "And I host it."

"What's it like in there?" Nash asks.

Yusuf has never been inside, but he gets a cut of whatever they pay to see it. "Do you want to see?" he asks.

He swears, later, that he meant well. Reality is subjective, anyhow.

When Nash leaves, an hour later, he's so distracted that he barely acknowledges Yusuf.

4.

The next time begins, again, in the middle of the night.

Yusuf's cellphone rings, and he answers automatically, because it's usually a friend in crisis (translation : Eames in crisis). "What?"

There's brief silence on the other end. Then, "It's me. Nash. Are you awake?"

Yusuf's first instinct is to be annoyed, but Nash sounds like shit. "Where are you?"

"Outside."

It turns out Nash looks like shit, too. Even in the dark, Yusuf can see that his eyes are bloodshot, his face washed-out and wrong. Yusuf has known enough addicts to tell that Nash is hooked badly on something.

"What is it?" he asks.

Nash doesn't even need to ask what Yusuf is talking about. "Coke, mostly," he says, winding his fingers together so they don't shake.

Yusuf raises his eyebrows. "Mostly?"

There are too many track marks on Nash's arms, either from dreaming or something else. Yusuf is yet again thankful to have steered clear of drugs.

"I think," Nash says, his voice shaking, "I think the Somnacin I've been using—"

There are few things that stir Yusuf up enough to make him really angry, but this is one of them. Somnacin should _never_ be addictive. It's only when you get it from an inferior chemist, like the one who gave Eames seizures that once, that you can get hooked on it. Some of them lace it on purpose to improve business; others simply don't know what they're doing.

"Where the hell have you been getting it?" Yusuf demands, grabbing Nash's upper arms.

Nash flinches like he expects Yusuf to strike him. "A man in New York. I couldn't afford your--"

"No," Yusuf snaps, "Next time, just come to me and I'll give it to you for free."

There is a difference, he is glad to tell anyone who asks, between a chemist purposefully lacing Somnacin with addictive substances, and encouraging dream-sharing as an addiction in itself. He's not a fucking _dealer_.

He lays his hand against Nash's burning skin, at his forehead and wrist, feeling the flesh nearly searing hot.

"You're burning up," he says, his desire not to let people die on his doorstep overwhelming his desire to avoid involving himself in other people's trouble.

"God, please," Nash mutters. Then, so quiet Yusuf almost doesn't hear it, "No one else will help."

Yusuf takes Nash's arm, feeling as if his skin is crawling. Fucking mindheist assholes and dream-sharing punks, creating messes they never stay to clean up. Pimps and extractors and petty thieves, Yusuf wants nothing to do with any of them. He's a scientist.

"I'll sort it out," he says flatly.

Nash is with him for two weeks, slowly detoxing from the bad Somnacin in his system. He very readily gives up the name of the man who acquired it for him. Yusuf pays attention to that, remembering what Eames said about Nash. He also considers what he's heard about Eames' new boy, who sounds like he could easily be hired to take out a bad chemist.

After the first week, when Nash is mostly looking better, he starts getting restless. They're eating breakfast together and Nash looks up at Yusuf, who is making coffee, and says, "Would it be okay if I spent some time in your dream den?" Everything he says always sounds like an apology.

Yusuf frowns. "If you like." Nash isn't exactly his friend, he reminds himself, and anyway, there's nothing _wrong_ with the shared dreaming.

Nash spends most of the second week asleep, and when he wakes up, his seems sicker.

On the thirteenth day, his cellphone vibrates while he's just about to go under.

"Can it wait?" Yusuf asks.

Nash looks at the number blankly. "Not really, no. It's kind of . . . it's important." He looks annoyed with himself.

Later, when he's on his way out, he says, "It's just a job. They need an architect and I need the money. They're friends of Eames'."

Yusuf considers this. "All right," he says. "Have fun."

Nash looks for a moment like he might hug Yusuf. Instead, he ducks forward and kisses him on the cheek. "In case I'm not back," he says before rushing off.

This is why Yusuf tries not to get involved in other people's trouble.

5.

The last time Yusuf sees Nash is only a month later.

This time, he looks worse than any time before. He still looks strung-out, but he also looks like someone beat him up. There's a huge bruise high on his cheekbone, a cut along his jaw, and hickeys and finger-shaped bruises all across his throat.

It makes Yusuf think of parts of a story where someone disappears from the central narrative to go do something else you never get to see. And he gets the feeling that he'll never know the central narrative, not in its entirety, maybe not even all the relevant threads. He's not the sort of man who gets stories told about him, which is a good thing, because those men usually have very exciting and dangerous things happen to them.

Nash isn't quite as low on the totem the basement chemist who provides reasons to step off-screen, but he's the sort of bit part who gets shot somewhere non-fatal and is later described as having died painfully of infection. Yusuf really dislikes his vivid imagination sometimes.

He doesn't ask why Nash is here. He just lets Nash in and takes the couch.

Nash stays for the better part of two months. He spends most of it in Yusuf's dream den, only resurfacing to eat occasionally.

Finally, when Nash stumbles up at four in the afternoon and interrupts one of Yusuf's experiments, Yusuf has had enough. He leaves his lab table and goes to Nash, frowning. "What _is_ it?" he asks. "What now?"

Nash presses up against him, eyes wide and glassy. Yusuf doesn't want to touch him anywhere, so he holds him delicately by the shoulders. "You're coming out of the dreams wrong," he says, mind spinning with ideas. "We need to tailor the Somnacin to your system, maybe. I think you might be allergic."

He makes designer drugs, but only for friends of people he calls friends.

*

Nash sits quietly in the lab for days, letting Yusuf take blood samples and test compounds on him. At night, when Yusuf is too worn out to stop him, he disappears back into the dream den for at least a few hours.

After four days of that, Yusuf says to him, "You should probably consider waiting to keep dreaming until I've found a compound you're not allergic to."

Nash looks at him, eyes a little unfocused. "I can't _stop_."

Yusuf shoves his hands through his hair in annoyance. "Did you ever have trouble with the Somnacin I gave you before? On jobs?"

Nash shrugs. "Sometimes. I always felt weird afterwards, but it's gotten worse."

Bodies are complicated things, and Yusuf has studied enough chemistry and biology to know this. "Okay," he says. "Sure. Well, don't take another job until we get you sorted out."

Nash nods. "Yeah. Okay. I guess."

*

Two days later, Yusuf still hasn't made a breakthrough, and Nash is looking worse than ever. Yusuf actually has to go down to the dream den and unhook him when he doesn't show up for dinner that evening.

"Hey," Yusuf says, when Nash comes to.

Nash blinks once, twice, three times before his eyes focus. "Oh," he says. "Hey."

Yusuf, completely fed up and scared, grabs him by the arm, drags him upstairs, and sits him down on the bed. "Nash," he says.

Nash shakes his head. "I can't stop."

Yusuf isn't the kind of person who fights battles he hasn't been explicitly asked to fight, but Nash's skin, when Yusuf touches his face, is burning up. "I need you to stop."

Instead of answering, Nash inclines his head a little, pressing against Yusuf's hand. Yusuf should really move his hand. Nash should really move his face. They shouldn't be on Yusuf's bed. Fuck.

"I never asked your first name," Yusuf says as gently as he can.

Nash looks at him, hollow-cheeked and, for once, still. "It doesn't really matter now, does it?"

The reply doesn't get past Yusuf's tongue. _But when you finally kill yourself with this stuff, I want to be able to remember you. I'm not Eames, who would make it up._ "I guess not," he says finally.

Nash leans forward and kisses Yusuf, desperate and messy, but also exhausted. His fingers find Yusuf's, tangling weakly there.

 _You only think you can count on me because Eames is your only basis of comparison_ , Yusuf wants to say. _I'll fuck you up, I just won't act_ confused _about it later_.

There are only bad people in this business. They're all monsters in some way. Eames is the kind who will love you and love you until you have nothing left on your bones but guilt. Arthur, the kid Eames keeps phoning Yusuf about, sounds the straightforward kind, like a knife in the gut, no mess, no fuss. Yusuf is the kind who'll give you the tools to chip away at yourself until all that's left is a cobbled-together creation, lurching unseeing from the lab.

Nash, he guesses, is that creation. Another kind of monster.

Just as long as Yusuf's got all that clear, at least for himself, he can take Nash to bed.

*

The next morning, Nash's phone buzzes, and he grabs for it blindly in the dark room.

Yusuf rolls over, already too hot, his fingers scraping down Nash's spine.

"Hello?" Nash says hoarsely. There's a brief silence, then, "Sure. Yeah. Cobol? But they're—Yeah. Sorry, Arthur. Sorry. Fuck. Okay. Sure. I'm—I'll be there. I'm in Mombasa." There's another pause. "Oh. Nothing. Visiting Eames." There's a much longer pause. "Okay. See you." He flips his phone shut, cursing.

"You're going," Yusuf says. It's not a question, because he's seen people (Eames) come running when Arthur asks. He catches himself wondering again about Nash's now-vanished bruises.

"I'm going," Nash echoes. "I'll see you when I'm done."

Yusuf wonders how they got from _In case I'm not back_ to this. He thinks maybe he did something good, however accidentally. "See you."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Doctored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796870) by [flosculatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/pseuds/flosculatory)




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